Decks and Boards
by Dionaea007
Summary: While sailing back to Westeros with Daenerys' fleet, Tyrion comes upon an abandoned ship. It's just a first accident in the series of mysteries and deaths, which soon follow. Maybe he should have paid a heed to omens, but maybe he should have been even more careful about who he seated across himself at cyvasse table.
1. Chapter 1

The day was warm for winter, the winds were mild - barely strong enough to move the ship, the sun was high, and the sky was flawlessly blue. Yet Tyrion Lannister felt as gloomy as if he was descending to the black cells. _It is the damned ship_ , he though.

He had been passing time the same way as many times before during their dragging unfortunate voyage – beating their captain mercilessly in cyvasse, when they had come upon her. Thago, a Lorathi almost as tall as the Cleganes, was just losing the third game in row when the sailor from the crow's nest called that a ship had been spotted port. Meereenese freewoman and another crewmen who had been mending tattered sails nearby shouted with joy in perfect unison and an oarsman called for firewine. Nevertheless, the cheer faded quickly. The vessel was not one of their own. What was worse, the Purple Eel, as her name read in Braavosi, seemed to float aimlessly, with no life in sight.

All of them could fathom what befell her most likely - illness. Be it pale mare, greyscale or some other plague vengeful gods deemed just to send on the ship, no one wanted to find out. However, the storm which had dragged them away from the rest of Daenerys's fleet had not been gentle to their own vessel. The Smiling Widow was barely seaworthy. Tyrion doubted more with each passing day that the hastily done repairs would last till the nearest port.

He had been rather surprised that it took only two hours of arguing with Jorah Mormont and the captain until they all agreed to send scouts. Five of three hundred on the deck volunteered to go of their own free will. In the end they choose an old woman with daughter and grandchildren on the board and a sullen youth called Cello who had been a skilled fighter before he had lost a leg and an eye not a moon turn ago. Both swore a solemn vow not to try to return if they sighted any sign of illness.

Tyrion had watched the little boat being put on water. Cello rowed through mild waves until he reached the Purple Eel. The Lannister saw through the captain's Myrish lenses that it took the lad three attempts to throw a rope with a hook onto the ship. Together the boy the woman boarded it. It was long before the two returned to their boat. But by then Tyrion knew that they were carrying good news.

 _Or not as bad as we had been expecting_ , Tyrion mused, his boot touching an old stain of dried blood which graced a fore deck of the Purple Eel. After Cello and the woman returned Tyrion and Jorah Mormont had gone to look at the ship themselves.

"I found something too," he called after Jorah Mormont. Probably only because so far it had been Mormont who had found all the clues, from a hidden love letter which had told them from where the ship was sailing to a barrel full of firewine. Besides, sticking a stick to a grumpy bear took his mind of uneasiness he felt since they boarded the ship.

"Blood stain. Not too old. Someone had tried to scrub it off. Could be from an accident, could be from fight, who cares?" The knight spat in a gruff irritated voice. Of recently it was the only voice he used. The death of Daenerys' latest husband might have pleased Mormont some, but there were already ten new suitors ready to offer her a marriage. All of them with a better chance to woo the Dragon Queen than Ser Jorah. It did not help any that they found themselves on the same ship again.

"Did you find anything else?" Tyrion asked. Inwardly he had to agree that a little blood on any ship was hardly noteworthy, but he would rather eat his own fingers that confess it aloud.

"No," Mormont barked, "the ship seems almost new and well-handled. Even boats are still there and the crew couldn't left more than few days ago."

"So all is great." Tyrion grinned with false cheer. He counted on it irritating the knight further, but Mormont was too lost in his own thoughts to take the bait.

"There is still that body the boy had found."

 _The one who died of cut throat, or so we all should hope_. Tyrion could not find a reason, why the crippled boy would lie about it. He had no reason to wish them harm. Maybe aside of harming all luckier than him.

"Do you want to have a look?" Mormont asked, scratching an ugly mark slavers had burned on his cheek. Tyrion wondered if he was even aware of the gesture.

"Nah, I want to see the captain's cabin first, but suit yourself."

"And let you steal whatever you finds there? No way, Imp, we are going together."

The captain's cabin was small but well equipped, paneled with dark wood from Summer Isles and with a desk which would make even most of the furniture in Casterly Rock pale with envy. No less than two big paintings were adorning the walls. Tyrion had never seen a craft which such a detail and lively colors before. The same could not be said about captain's taste in motifs. One painting was depicting Galyddo Neer, a local hero of Stepstones, easily recognizable by unusually long nose and three nipples at his revealed muscled chest. The tale had it that Galyddo Neer was the one who had supposedly deflowered Nissa Nissa before she married her husband, helped Brandon Stark harry wildlings behind the Wall and even outsmarted Lann the clever. Luckily the other one simply showed a young naked girl with generous curves taking bath in a stream.

With the help of Jorah Mormont's axe they gained an access into the locked drawer. Inside there was a small bottle with an unknown potion, a bigger bottle of firewine, some parchments, ink and quills, three maps and two books. The first book was a Lyseni tome about the art of love with hundreds images and not a written word in it, the other a small one with black leather cover confirmed what they had seen so far, the ship headed from Braavos.

Tyrion returned to the black book. "No one keeps such records but Braavosi."

Quickly he found the last page with written text. It was only three days old. There was a marked position and note about a tragic accident which likely led to the very same bloodstain he have found. The fortnight before that there was a note about regular inspection of the cargo. Most of it was expensive food intended for Maidenpool and Gulltown. Going back and forth, Tyrion noticed few more tragic accidents, which seemed strange mostly only by their number and the first one truly interesting entry.

"Look here," he turned to Mormont, "a few days before the end the handwriting changed. Something happened to the captain, this second man keeps much less records. And they changed the course too. The ship turned south."

"Anything else?" Mormont didn't sound too interested.

"No." Tyrion put the book in his pocked. He would take the Lyseni one too, but it was too big. "Time to see the dead man."

The scent of the corpse could be felt from afar, together with the gloominess of under-deck it did not help to improve Tyrion's mood. The cabin they found him in looked no different than any cabin for a wealthy passenger, though the dead man did look more like a sailor than a merchant. He was lying face down. Jorah Mormont kicked the corpse and it turned around.

In an instant Tyrion noticed that man's breeches were unlaced and his cock out, much more unnerving was his throat. It wasn't cut, the flesh seemed bitten off. A big piece was missing and the border of the wound in the shape suspiciously resembling a bite of man's teeth.

"What in seven hells happened in here?" Tyrion cursed, wondering how to put all pieces together.

A fortnight had passed since they had abandoned the battered Smiling Widow and boarded the Purple Eel. Tyrion almost stopped waking up in the middle of the night with the uneasy feeling that another piece of this ship's mystery was just out of reach. All he was ever likely to know was hardly more than the words from the black book about the first captain who died and a series of improbable unlucky accidents which followed.

The only thing Tyrion could conclude was that the owner of the second handwriting meant to seal the ship to the Summer Islands. Maybe he was behind the death of the first captain, maybe he decided to steal the ship, when the opportunity arose, maybe he was fleeing something. Where the man with the torn throat and missing passengers fit in that was likely to remain mystery forever. Did they die too unnoticed after the man who kept the record perished? It was a disquieting thought Tyrion did not like to ponder on. Luckily, little by little new worries overshadowed the mystery of the Purple Eel and Tyrion's life slowly but surely returned to its original route, where his time was dived equally between planning what he will do once they landed, cyvasse, and boredom.

And so he found himself once again waiting for Thago to finally make a move. His bored gaze wandered the overcrowded board and lingered on a girl scrubbing deck not far from them. From time to time, she turned her head and glanced at their game. He must have seen her earlier but it was only her broken nose, dark circles under her eyes and bruises covering left side of her face, which finally caught his attention.

"What happened to you, girl?" he asked in High Valyrian. She lifted her face, looked at him wide-eyed and then smiled stupidly.

"What tongue do you, speak?" he tried again with one of few sentences he spoke in Trade tongue.

"Pentoshi, Trade tongue." she answered in the same tongue in a rather crude manner. Though a crude manner had to be a rule if half a words is substituted by obscene gestures.

"What happened to your..." Tyrion called to her and gestured to his own face not able to remember the right word in Pentoshi.

"Got smashed against zbara in storm, magister." Tyrion could not recall what zbara meant, but he remembered all too well the storm which almost sent the Smiling Widow kissing the seabed. Yes, there had been a girl who hit her head against the railing. Afterward the healers on the ship argued furiously if to count her among living or dead. Though neither of them seemed strongly inclined that she would recover.

"My lord, your move," Captain Thago demanded impatiently.

Tyrion turned back to the game board and immediately wrinkled his nose, or at least what little was left of it. Of all the moves the captain could have made, he went for the most stupid. The trap he had managed to set for Tyrion's dragon was hardly worth the effort as it also bared his own king. Tyrion rubbed his cold hands and ended it quickly.

On the morrow, Tyrion noticed the girl watching them again. An idea struck him. Mercilessly, he finished the game with the captain and went to the girl.

"Do you want to learn the game?" he asked her. He had toyed with an idea of teaching Frina, the woman he had taken to bed, but dismissed it quickly. Even if Frina had the wits to turn out better player than the captain, which wasn't all that sure, Tyrion had learned his lesson about giving too much attention to women he bedded. They all turned up fickle bitches in the end. _No, better not to combine my only two pleasures on this tedious voyage._

There was not much risk of him ever wanting to bed this girl. She was about six and ten, which was a good age, but even without her injuries she was hardly attractive. Her ears were so big they would make a Florent proud, her hair was unkept and her round eyes were too close, besides being the dullest brown color. To top it all she was now blushing, which with her injuries gave her a rather grotesque look.

"I have no need to know, tis is my work, I don't have time to play, magister."

Tyrion had expected such an answer.

"Do you know, who is the second most important man on this ship?" he asked her lightly.

"Magister Jorah," she answered.

Tyrion grinned. Jorah was below him, Daenerys made that clear and even the last orphan on the ship knew that.

"You flatter me," he objected humbly, "I am not the most important man here, because even if I can decide where the ship should be sailing, only the captain can make it move. Even with king aboard, the captain is always the only true king on his own ship. And of course Ser Jorah comes after me, but I still can make sure you will have no trouble from this. I would feel slighted if you refused me needlessly."

She nodded still looking troubled, but both of them knew she could not really refuse him.

To Tyrion's delight the girl turned out to be a quick study. Both of the cyvasse and the Common Tongue. Not that she ever made any especially clever moves, but she never needed to be told anything twice and never missed any immediate threat to her pieces. As a reward, she helped him to dust his Pentoshi.

They played every day at dawn and dusk. Outside if the weather allowed it, inside just as often. Soon Tyrion relieved the captain from their mutual games.

"Thinking with your cock again? She isn't even pretty," Thago commented when Tyrion told him, but he seemed more relieved than angry. The captain had never been too fond of the game. As far as Tyrion could tell, his greatest passion when he wasn't busy captaining was to watch different kinds of seabirds trough his Myrish lenses.

Tyrion learned little about the girl he had been playing with. Her name was Liaha and she had been born and lived most of her life in Pentos as a fisherman's sister, but she did not share much past that and he did not care to hear it. The only thing he made any effort to find out was if she had a boy or a man on the ship. Though he desired her no more than Penny, he could not abide a though, that she would share anything he told her with some fool while they kissed surrounded by salted fish and sacks of onions.

The time started to flow somehow quicker. Tyrion almost forgotten the uneasiness he felt when they boarded the ship. Or maybe he was just getting better ignoring that weak nagging voice it the back of his mind.

They had almost reached the main fleet the day Tyrion was woken by hysterical screams. Hurriedly, he dressed and run below decks.

In one of the overcrowded large cabins he found an old woman shrieking hysterically. The crone's eyes were turned back, so only the whites shone in dim light and she was trashing so wildly that if not for younger women holding her, Tyrion was sure she would had fallen on the floor.

"She only had a bad dream." One of the girls shouted through noise of crying children when the woman quieted for a moment. She did not have a time to tell more because the crone started to scream again.

She seemed to be repeating something but Tyrion caught only one word, vlk-a. It did not last long after that. In the end she fainted exhausted.

"What was she saying?" Tyrion asked the girl who spoke Common Tongue.

"It is nothing, she is old. She had a bad dream and forgotten she is awake now."

"What was she saying?" Tyrion repeated.

"Death is on the ship. She saw the death walking on this ship."

Suddenly, Tyrion felt as gloomy as when they came upon the abandoned ship. He shook his head forcefully. The girl is right, I am becoming old and fool myself, it is nothing but delusions of an old woman. He turned away from the cabin and noticed that Jorah had come down too.

"This is how you spend yours days now, teaching whelps cyvasse and listening to scared old women?" The knight asked in his usual charming way.

"As it happens Pentoshi orphans and Dotharaki crones beat watching a hairy bear dance at the tune of self-pity."

"The woman is Lhazareene," the knight spat before leaving.

Nevertheless of what she was, death indeed boarded their deck the next day.

If there was one thing that Tyrion Lannister had come to hate with all his heart as much his own sweet family, it was surely fog.

That morning he watched yellow drops of his piss disappear in milky white air unable to see even the surface of the water. He had to try very hard not to remember another time when he sailed in a fog like this through the Sorrows. Lost in his thoughts, he did not even have time to lace himself back before the attack started.

How the buggers found them in that thick fog, he would never know, but an Ironborn longship fell upon them and quickly overwhelmed the crew. Captain Thago was the first one to die. Ironborn would abide neither man-fuckers nor other captains on the ship. The poor boy who had been sharing captain's bed was butchered before he even had a time to wake up. Tyrion was recognized quickly and ended up as a prisoner in his own cabin. Albeit it did resemble a proper prison cell with all the furniture removed.

Tyrion could not decide if he mourned most his books, his narrow featherbed or the magnificent painting of the naked girl. Mormont joined him some time later, beaten, bruised and with hands and legs in irons.

Tyrion grinned. "Remind me not to sail with you ever again. It always ends up with both of us enslaved."

Mormont actually smiled back, his teeth red with blood. "We are meant for ransom, dwarf. If they wanted us for thralls they would have drowned you for a start."

It were the last words they exchanged for a long time.

The Ironborn who become the captain of the Purple Eel was some years past his prime. He was of middling height with a hook nose, pale blue-grey eyes and no sense of humor at all. The man, Tyrion learned, came with little-telling name of Dagon Pyke. As with all men who reminded Tyrion of his father, the Imp misliked him from the start.

The captivity wasn't a hard one, Tyrion had to acknowledge. Jorah still didn't talk to him, but they fed them well enough and mostly left them alone. Inwardly Tyrion agreed with Mormont, they were likely kept for ransom. Tyrion did not fear much who he might be sold to. Daenerys would pay for him and the two men who ruled Westeros at the moment he had met and befriended both while they have been mere boys. What vexed him the most, was the lack of wine. Well, that, and the noises.

A few times a day women were chosen to pleasure the new crew. Most Dothraki women would rather die than to be heard screaming when men took them, but the others... Often he found himself thinking about Liaha. He wondered if any of the screams belonged to her and if she was still alive. He would kill any man who dared to touch her, he vowed to himself, as once he should have killed all the men his father let to bed his wife. Strangely, Liaha was on his mind more than Frina, who had warmed his own bed. _Frina had been a whore though, Liaha could have been still a maiden for all I know._ Granted, the girl was no beauty and her face was still bruised, but she was also young and healthy, which would fit most men's preferences well enough.

On the fourth day, the captain stormed into their cabin half mad with rage. He went straight to Tyrion and before the Imp knew what was happening the Ironborn grabbed his hand and in one savage move broke at least two of his fingers.

Tyrion wailed. Maybe his injuries from the Blackwater had hurt worse but that was then and this was now and it hurt like hell.

"Why?" Tyrion managed to squeal.

"Who poisoned my men?" the captain shouted, his face so close Tyrion could feel his spit on his face. "Three men are dead and ten are blinded."

"I don't know, what you are talking about, I swear." Tyrion tried to hold his injured limb as still as possible, but the captain dragged it roughly again and the Lannister screamed in full force.

"I warn you, Imp, start talking. If you think this hurts, you know nothing. I heard you read a lot and I am sure you have read about many ways to make men talk. I can make you try a few for yourself." Tyrion almost threw up recalling one particular translation of Astapori scrolls he had read as a foolish boy.

"The ship is cursed," Jorah Mormont spoke for the first time since the captain entered.

Pyke snorted competently, but at least he looked at the knight. Tyrion saw his chance. "There was a chest in this cabin, if it is still on the ship in the bottom, there is a small black book. The old captain kept a diary, read for yourself."

"What are you babbling about?" the Ironborn spat, but he did sound a little confused.

"We did not sail from the harbor on this ship. We found it abandoned after a storm savaged our first vessel and boarded this one a fortnight ago."

"The Imp is telling it true. Find the book and read for yourself," Mormont supported him.

"Let's hope he does know how to read," Tyrion added once the man was gone. He found himself almost regretting all the times he was rude to the knight when Mormont used one of his own leathers to bind his injured fingers despite the irons on his own hands. Fighting the pain, Tyrion tried to recall the finer points of the diary. Will it be enough to convince the captain? Will he have us killed anyways just to be sure? What really happened to his men, and to all the other men on this ship?

According to what Tyrion could remember, the first captain of the Purple Eel was the first man to die. Soon after, the others started to meet fatal misfortunes. Bad water, bad food, bad drink, broken spar, sleek deck, rotten rail… One was supposedly pecked to death by a flock of seagulls. And though, in typical Braavosi fashion, there were even written the names of witnesses, Tyrion had still a hard time believing it. What seemed true enough was that they had lost twelve men in three days. What happened to the rest of the crew and forty passengers who, according to earlier notes, were also on the ship Tyrion could not imagine.

It turned out that Dagon Pyke did know how to read. He came to their cabin holding the little black book in his left hand.

"You may be telling the truth," he grunted. "but I don't believe any curse is behind it. Whoever did it, must have been hiding on the ship when you boarded."

"If it were true, I would be the first one pointing my broken finger on that son of a bitch, but we searched the whole ship, there was no one. Ask anyone still alive, they all will tell you the same tale."

For a moment captain's eyes hardened and Tyrion almost took a step back expecting more broken limbs, but in the end the Ironborn only frowned and left. The next day, he was dead as was all of his crew.

It was Cello who opened their door in the middle of the night. The rag hiding his missing eye was filthy and his wooden leg was spotted with blood, but his mouth was bent in a hard cold smile. "The first ship wrecked upon a whale. Most of them on our ship died," he told them, "the rest we killed."

Despite his newfound freedom and reunion with his featherbed, Tyrion did not sleep that night. He kept returning to what had happened at the Purple Eel since the Ironborn took it and even before. Unhappily he found himself agreeing with Pyke. There was a skilled killer on the board and Tyrion was none the wiser how it was possible.

The sunrise found Tyrion tired, but awake. Not much later, the outside deck started to fill with people and noise. Finally, he came out rubbing his red eyes in sun. The board was as crowded as he had seen it. After being closed in their cabins for days even Dothraki welcomed the chance to glance once again upon the sky. Most strangely of all, the people seemed happy. He even saw few women dancing. With slow steps he went along the rail. A group of men let him pass and he spotted the old woman he had seen screaming few days ago. Her wrinkled brown face was glistening in the sun, her eyes were closed and she was smiling. Suddenly, she turned to Tyrion and opened her eyes.

"Sa he vlk-a."

Tyrion looked around and found a boy who could translate for him. A mongrel no older than nine with dark skin and auburn hair.

"Tell her to repeat what she had told me," he ordered the child.

"Sa he vlk-a," the woman repeated.

"The wolf hunts on this deck," the boy translated.

Tyrion frowned, remembering what another Lhazarene told him. "I thought vlk-a means death."

The boy nodded in agreement. "Tis the same thing. For sheep folk death is a monstrous she-wolf, the queen and mother of all wolves. In the end no one can run from her."

The crone nodded her head too and smiled an evil toothless smile. "Sa he vlk-a, ba ne me."

"The wolf hunts on this deck, but not us," the boy repeated.

Tyrion returned her grin with an ugly smile of his own. Indeed death was not so terrible when she came for your enemies. Or at least when she took more of them than yours.

Twelve of their own men had been killed, five women, and one babe still on teat. Most of the women and girls had been raped. Some, not for the first time in their lives, Tyrion judged. It made him think of Liaha again. He decided to find her. He was directed towards one of the least savory cabins on the Purple Eel. He heard the voices clearly even before he approached the entrance.

"I saw you."

"Lori, you are wrong," Tyrion recognized Liaha's voice.

"Please leave me, you scares me. Let me be!" Tyrion hid himself behind a barrel and watched as a young fair-haired woman passed by. Her face was pale as milk.

He waited for some time before he entered the cabin. In a small space there were four wide, hastily-made berths above each other. Likely each of them served for two or more passengers. At the moment though, there was only one person in the room.

Liaha was turned away from him staring at the pitiful flame of a thin tallow candle someone put atop an old barrel in the corner.

"I don't want to talk about what you heard," she greeted him without turning.

Tyrion was taken aback. What he had heard was indeed still lingering in his mind, but her commanding voice seemed out of place even more. Casterly Rock she would have been whipped for such a remark. But then again, Daenerys Targaryen was not his father and they were definitely not in Casterly Rock. He put the though aside. "Will you meet me for a cyvasse game again?" he asked instead.

"I will be there."

It turned out to be the longest game they had ever played. Liaha was even more silent than usual, but Tyrion quickly overcame the uneasiness of their reunion. After being locked for days with only Mormont for company, Tyrion found it hard to restrain the flow of his own words. All the while the girl was avoiding all his traps. She might never know how to defeat me, but she surely knows how to flee. Only when the sun was leaving its zenith, Liaha's overseer came to ask for her and the accident must have put the girl out of balance because not a tree moves later his white archer ended her black king.

The day turned out to be more plentiful of meetings then Tyrion would have expected. Besides meeting their new captain, a man of ordinary ability and extraordinary boring nature, he chanced upon Frina. The woman was eight years his senior and used to be a mummer in her best times, which were now long gone, but she was still pretty enough and would do most anything for a wine. As he was pulling out of her, he once again decided not to ponder upon the fact that he had her from behind more times than any other way. The amount of wine they had shared was a great help in that.

Tyrion was still very much drunk, when he found Liaha by the cyvasse table. No matter, Tyrion was better player than her even drunk. Yet he could not find interest for the game that time. He kept tipping playing pieces while he tried to reach for them, once he even moved his horse in a wrong way and trice he felt asleep, still he kept winning. Most of the days he would not mind being the one safely on the top of the game, but that day it started to irritate him. In the end he could not stand it any longer and moved his dragon in a way, which would allow even someone with Liaha's limited abilities to see the chance for victory. He expected to see a joy and excitement on her face once she noticed, instead he saw her frown. It was a slightest tremble of her bottom lip, but for Tyrion in that moment nothing could be more obvious. _She is letting me win._

He woke in his own bed with a headache worth all the wine in Westeros. He could not remember how he got to his cabin. All he could recall was fucking Frina again, pissing as the sun was setting, and Liaha. Liaha frowning at his move. The memory would not leave him. At first he just judged she let him win because he was a lord and close to Queen Daenerys. But that somehow didn't fit. With each recalled game an ugly suspicion grew stronger. _She always knew much more than she let on._

Tyrion never liked being played, least of all when he was unaware of the fact. In a gloomy mood, he waddled out of his cabin. It was already past the midday. He almost collided with a woman scrubbing the deck. There were other people around helping, running messages, scrubbing, mending sails, boning fish, but he could not see Liaha.

Even the first boy he asked knew her, though he understood barely more than her name. Still, Tyrion followed the direction boy pointed. He found himself on the opposite end of the ship.

She was seated comfortably on a barrel between three menacingly looking sailors while boning a fish with obvious skill and chatting merrily in Trade Tongue. From what Tyrion could understand she was talking about a Westerosi boy who took her to bed and promised to marry her. The men of course humoured her. But is it truly her, who knows nothing or them? Once he saw it, he could not unsee it. There was a sharp cold mind hiding behind shy smiles and naive face.

Making sure she had enough work for at least an hour he quietly retreated. There was a person he needed to find. That proved to be much more tiresome task than his first search.

A girl scrubbing the deck send him to one of oarsmen, who send him to a boy mending sail, who directed him to a young cook, who finally send him to the right place. It turned out he had been looking for a washerwoman and for the first time in his life it was a kind who actually did some washing.

In small hot space with air so damp Tyrion could hardly breathe three women worked side by side. One of them, he noticed, was washing his own doublet. She was not the one he was seeking though. He came to the right woman avoiding all the butts and elbows and touched her arm.

"Come outside. I want to speak with you," he shouted through the noise of splashing water. He was not sure if she had truly heard him, but she must have understood enough, because she followed him outside. Even with a face red from heat, she was rather pretty. Around his own age, fair-haired, with delicate heart shaped face, a birthmark above her upper lip and big full breasts.

"You are Lori?" he asked her in Pentoshi.

She nodded visibly surprised that he knew her name.

"Why are you afraid of Liaha?"

"I am sorry, but I don't understand what magister is asking," she answered, but the startled look gave away her lie.

"I heard you two talking. You know who I am so don't you dare to lie to me."

She only nodded wordlessly.

"How long have you known Liaha and how did you end up on this ship?"

"For five years, since she was one and ten. I was married to her brother before he died. Our little boy died too. She has no one else. I used to sell fish by day and ale by night and Liaha made nets and crab traps and sold them."

"What are you doing here now?" Daenerys attracted all kind of people but to a Pentoshi woman with honest work there would be little to await her in a war-torn Westeros.

"One day, a man came and told me to come with him to work in his inn. He also told me not to let Liaha meet with men. I knew he was from no inn. I told him to leave us alone, but he kept coming and every time it was worse. And then Liaha took some fool to her bed. I beat her so hard she could barely sit without whining, but I was afraid Ruggo will learn she was no longer a maiden and hurt us. So when the dragon queen came, we ran."

"You were not afraid of her then."

She looked as if she might laugh at that. "She was such a mild stupid girl. Believing everything anyone told her. Her brother had to take care of her as if she was a little child."

Tyrion fought a frown forming on his face. "When did it change?" Her eyes instantly became guarded again. Tyrion cursed himself for not being more patient.

"You have to tell me," he commanded in a voice which could have belonged to his father.

She looked around as if to find someone who would help her, but though they still heard the water splashing from the room where other washerwomen worked, they could not see them nor heard their words. Her eyes stared at him pleadingly but he did not back down. Scared, she shifted to look at her feet. They were bare, Tyrion noticed. Finally she took a deep breath and answered.

"Liaha is like a heavy stone I have to take with me wherever I go. I found myself even thinking that Ruggo would not bother me if not for her, that my boy would not have caught a chill if she did not open windows so often. Tis probably not true, but not once I thought how much easier life would be without her." Tears filled her eyes. "Sometimes the gods listen."

"She almost died. She hit her head in a storm." Tyrion had heard this part of the tale.

"No one thought she would last. Her brother had been a good man, always so good to me and I felt so guilty. I prayed hard for her, I offered a living fish, than a chicken, than my own blood. She did not get any better, she did not get any worse. She screamed all the time. Other women urged me to take a pillow and gave her the gift of mercy, but I felt so guilty that I threatened to slit their own throats if they harmed her."

"You were right, she got better."

The woman looked at him with unrestrained disgust. "I was a fool. Dead should stay dead. She died when she hit her head, no matter if she was still breathing. A day after we moved to the new ship I found her sitting at our berth healthy as ever, if not for bruises on her face I would not be able to guess that she had been hurt. I was so relieved that I ran to her and embraced her fiercely." She started crying. "Only it wasn't her. It wasn't her."

Tyrion waited with all patience he could muster till she got her tears under control.

"How it wasn't her?" he asked, cocking his head.

Though her visible distrust Lori answered without further probing. "No one else sees it, but I noticed almost from the beginning. The way she is watching everything, the way she is always aware. Even when she speaks, the words are all right but somehow it is still wrong. Yet, I was telling myself I was seeing things, but then she killed the man."

"Which man?" Tyrion had to fight himself not to let his raw interest show in his voice.

"The reaver. When they took the ship they started to look for girls, the way they always do." Her voice became flat. "There were many pretty girls, but Liaha was never pretty even before she got hurt. I thought that maybe there will be enough others, but on the fourth day one of them came for her too. She never tried to fight or flee, I wasn't even sure she knew what was going to happen. We all went quiet, you could always hear when they took someone to the next cabin and gods help us, we always went quiet as mice and listened. They talked and then we heard a body falling on the ground and nothing else for hours, till a boy came to tell us the reavers were dead and let us out. I ran up just in time to see the body being thrown into sea. She had torn his throat like a beast. I went to our cabin and she was there washing herself calmly in pile of water and her shift was thorn and drenched in blood."

Tyrion wasn't sure if she told him anything afterward, he was too lost in his own mind. All he could think of was the man with ripped throat they had found on the Purple Eel when he boarded the ship for the first time. The reaver had died the same way. This could not be coincidence. Was it possible that Liaha, a simple girl he had spent so much time with, was behind at least two savage kills? But she could not have been on the Purple Eel before they found it. Who or what was he dealing with? He should try to corner her, he knew, but others tried before him and they always paid with their own lives.

Their game of cyvasse that day proved to be a very mundane one. As did the one next morning and ones that followed. Liaha never hinted that she was aware of his suspicion, but deep down Tyrion felt she knew. And so they played their game of waiting till few days later the Purple Eel finally came upon the rest of Daenerys' fleet.

"Am I growing forgetful or is this truly a different ship, than the one which took sail with from Pentos?" Marwyn greeted him with raised eyebrow just as his foot touched the other ship for the first time.

Even before they met during Daenerys's dark days of marriage to Euron Greyjoy, Tyrion had heard about Archmaester Marwyn. The man's thirst for knowledge and his uncommon mind were known to all educated people in Westeros. His particular interest in magic won him the name "Mage" and the distrust of his own order. It had turned out even Daenerys had heard of the archmaester, though that particular familiarity had almost cost the man his life. But as Tyrion learned, the old grudges might last centuries, yet new allegiances can be made in the blink of an eye. It had been Marwyn who managed to free Daenerys from the Crow's Eye. That had won him endless gratitude from the last Targaryen.

"The Smiling Widow was not seaworthy after the last storm. As luck would have it, that we came upon this girl and she suits our needs well." Tyrion made a mummer's gesture introducing the ship to the audience.

"Even more lucky she does not agree with squids half so much," Mormont added gruffly. The knight was waiting impatiently for the news of his love, but the archmaester did not do as much as to spare a second glance to Mormont. He only ordered three of his men to inspect the ship and called Tyrion to his own cabin.

The Lannister gritted his teeth as he crossed the swaying board connecting the two ships. Though once he was safely there he could not help but admire the vessel. The Midnight Light was a ship like no other in Daenerys's fleet. Small, lean and quick with fifteen oars on each side and sails resembling ships from Ashai, she was built by the design of three best shipwrights Archmaester Marwyn collected from half of the known world.

"Tell me all you have seen since you spotted the Purple Eel and leave nothing out, even if you deem it insignificant," the Mage ordered once the door of the cabin closed behind them.

The archmaester let the Imp talk as he was wont to do, interrupting only when he demanded to know some detail. Tyrion had always taken pride in his wits but Marwyn was probably the only person who could make him feel like a little boy clumsily learning his first letters. He both admired and despised the older man for it.

"The girl called Liaha is dead. Your little companion is a faceless man or someone very close to it wearing her face. She must have been hiding on the ship when you found it," the archmaester concluded in the end seeming only mildly interested by the finding.

"A faceless man?" Tyrion himself was much more taken aback. "I always dreamed I would hire one for my sweet sister and dreaded she would do the same. For some reason, though, I never imagined him to be as a skinny girl barely old enough to grow breasts."

"A faceless girl, yes, that is more apt," Marwyn nodded undisturbed. "I need you to return to the ship and invite her to a game of cyvasse with me."

Tyrion demanded to know more of this insane plan, but the archmaester refused firmly. Though not satisfied with this outcome, Tyrion knew he desperately needed Marwyn's help.

Being the same size, the Purple Eel was just as overcrowded as the Smiling Widow had been. It was never more apparent than after Tyrion returned from the Midnight Light, where Marwyn kept only a necessary crew. He felt as if he had walked King's Landing across twice, before he found Liaha. Though many people seemed to know her, no one knew where she was at the moment. He was starting to wonder if she had found a way to flee the ship when finally one little girl pointed towards the crow's nest. Feeling generous, Tyrion gave her a gold coin and the child took it, looking at it confused.

His heart squeezed with fear and his injured hand hurt like hell yet Tyrion managed to climb up. Liaha wasn't alone. There was a young sailor pointing to the dark shapes and teaching her how to tell the ships apart before seeing flags. Tyrion watched them for moment before climbing the last part. Despite her looks, she has a way of charming men, which he could see now. Behind a plain face there was a rare and dangerous beast. _How many lives has she lived before? How many lives has she taken?_

"What are you doing here, my lord?" she asked him, seeming surprised.

"Help me up and I might even tell you."

It was the sailor who helped him to climb the last part before giving his pardons and leaving them alone. Both of them watched him depart silently, Tyrion trying to stay as far from the edge as possible. The ship seemed unsettlingly small from this height.

Liaha turned to him. He never before noticed just how piercing her gaze was.

"One of the men on the ships we joined, the Archmaester Marwyn, would like to play cyvasse with you. He is a man of learning and a friend of mine." Well the last one of that statement might not have been entirely true, but Marwyn was as close to a friend as Tyrion allowed people these days.

"Is he the one who looks like glahi?" she asked, all false innocence.

"Glahi?" he did not know the word.

"Big, heavy, wrinkled dog."

Tyrion almost raised his eyebrows wondering if Marwyn truly looked so much like one of his nicknames or if she had heard of him all the way in Braavos. "A mastiff, yes, that would be the one."

"He looks scary."

"He is," Tyrion allowed. Yet, in the end, she agreed to come.

Two young men greeted them on the Midnight Light. The short one escorted them to the archmaester's cabin. As soon as they were inside, Tyrion heard the lock click. Liaha pierced him with her eyes, but he was no wiser about what was happening than her. She looked around and quicker than Tyrion would have believed possible threw herself against a small window. She was almost gone by the time Marwyn appeared from behind a secret wall and ran to her with dagger in hand. He only managed to scratch her hand but soon Tyrion heard a dull thud.

The archmaester unlocked the door and they walked towards the part of deck the window had been facing. The girl lay there with eyes wide open, but unseeing. Angry that Marwyn left him in the dark about his plan, Tyrion bent and put a hand on her neck. Mercifully, her heart was still beating, though rather slowly.

"You should be thankful I took so much interest in the Master Galad's teaching," the archmaester went on seemingly oblivious to Tyrion's mood. "The man had fearsome passion in creating new poisons. He named this one snake's breath. The only disadvantage I noticed is that its effect weakens with every use. Now step back, I need to take away her blades."

Tyrion did not protest when Marwyn started to strip the girl naked as he himself was not surprised that she had weapons concealed on various places. Four knives of different shape and even a slim sword. The sword looked a lot like Braavosi blade, but there was still something distinctively Westerosi about its design. Tyrion reached for it, but the Mage stopped him. Only then the Lannister noticed that the Marwyn was wearing thick leather gloves.

Once the girl was unarmed Marwyn beckoned his men and one took the girl in his arms. Together they went to the second deck. Aside of a prison The small cabin they entered reminded Tyrion of a temple of an especially sinister godhood. There were no windows and all the walls, ceiling and floor were framed by iron bars and only equipment contained of two bedsheets. As many as fourteen oil lamps lighted the space.

Marwyn's man lay the girl on a thick blanket and a new man appeared seemingly out of nowhere with smith's tools. With uneasy feeling Tyrion watched as the smith put an iron collar around girl's slim neck and chained her to the wall opposite the entrance. Tyrion could not help but to put a hand to his own neck, he still remembered the collars he wore in Volantis and Meereen.

"Wouldn't chaining her by a leg suffice?" he couldn't help but grumble.

"No, she might bite it off," Marwyn answered simply.

"So I take it that the effect of the poison is not permanent."

The Mage looked at him somehow annoyed. "If I wanted her dead or permanently incapacitated, there were thousands easier ways to do so. This is much more delicate affair. She will start to wake up tomorrow. At first two days her mind will wander like in fever, then will come the deep sleep. In the end she will wake up without any lasting damage."

"The best three days of her life," Tyrion commented sourly.

Marwyn ignored him. Instead the archmaester knelt, took off his glove and cut his own hand. Tyrion watched fascinated and horrified as drops of blood felt at Liaha's face. The Mage spoke few words in tongue the Lannister did not recognize and smeared the blood across girl's bruised face. Tyrion gasped utterly bewildered when Liaha's features changed right under Marwyn's thick hairy fingers.

"Of course I heard, but to see it..." Tyrion could not even find the words.

"Her true face. Glamours are known in the world, I myself am no novice in that regard, but this a higher art of magic."

Tyrion came closer to have a better look, thankful for all the oil lamps in the room. Even with her face covered by fresh blood he could see how pretty she was with straight nose and fine rosy lips. What surprised him the most was that she appeared no older than Tysha on the day he had wed her. Even younger than the girl whose face she had stolen.


	2. Chapter 2

The day had become somehow brighter while they had been belowdeck. The girl's weapons glistened in the ascending sun. Marwyn ordered for vinegar, water and salt and started to clean them one after another.

"Is any of them truly poisoned?" Tyrion asked.

"I don't think so, yet a man can be careful all his life, but careless only once."

"What do you expect to learn from her?" It was strange, but Tyrion did not feel truly relieved they had captured Liaha. Part of him stubbornly still thought of her as the girl whom he had taught cyvasse. An even bigger part of him resented the sudden loss of control.

"Learn?" the archmaester repeated. "Who knows. Most servants of the House of Black and White are little more than common men at the beginning and even less in the end, but there seems to be something special about this one. Very few women are allowed to join, and even less members are allowed to walk away unharmed."

"How can you be so bloody sure that she has left them?"

"Most of those killings, that was vengeance. Faceless men kill only when the death is paid for by accordingly great sacrifice."

It took an annoyingly long time for the archmaester to finish his work. He put the knives away quickly but seemed much more interested in the sword, frowning and turning it in his hands. To his great annoyance Tyrion was left to peek at it from below.

"A slim little sword for a slim little girl. It almost looks like it was made for her," Tyrion commented when he could no longer abide the prolonged silence.

Marwyn stopped his inspection a looked at him oddly. "I pray that you are right. This is without a doubt a Westerosi castle-forged steel. There is even a smith's mark still on it."

"She left it there?" Tyrion asked surprised and reached for the sword. What assassin would carry a traceable weapon? Its design was simple, Iron Islands or the North, Tyrion guessed. He turned the weapon to see the mark and his eyes widened.

"I have seen this mark before." But for his life, he could not remember where.

"The weapon is most likely northern," Marwyn echoed, trying to force Imp's memory.

Tyrion frowned, but it was still eluding him. "It almost makes me regret that we left Mormont behind," he sighed, in the end defeated.

"It is wiser he does not know of this. I do not think the queen needs to worry just yet," Tyrion grimaced. That was the most likely route Mormont would take, aside maybe of trying to kill the girl. Marwyn, while more or less loyal, was not the type to put his service before his curiosity. Daenerys had been too eager to trust this one, he would know, she had been too eager to trust Tyrion too.

Even though the Midnight Light was a small ship, she had a large, exceptionally equipped library. Yet Tyrion found it nigh impossible to concentrate on his reading. His mind kept wandering to Liaha, or whatever her true name was. Hard as he tried, he could not remember anything she gave away about herself.

And of course there was also Marwyn. The archmaester seemed so well informed about the mysterious guild of faceless men that it made Tyrion wonder if he had come upon one of their order before or even had some connection to them. Judging by Marwin's reaction one would think that the girl having two legs, two eyes and one nose and is more surprising than that she is from House of Black and White. _Hopefully, he will get bored by this quicker than a farmer in Mantarys by a two headed calf._

Ever since Tysha, Tyrion could not abide sharing his women, be it a whore he paid or his estranged wife. He hired the ugliest men he could find for Shae's guards, had the only other man on the ship whom Frina had bedded executed for a theft, and he knew that in the unlikely event that Sansa Stark had ever smiled at any handsome knight in the court, he would sent the man fighting in the front line the next day. He needed Marwyn for now, but Tyrion was determined he would be the last one to have a word in the girl's fate.

They woke him two hours before the dawn. One of the two men was the same short man, who had greeted him and Liaha on the ship. Silently, Tyrion followed him down. They passed no less than three guards before Tyrion enter the brightly lit prison cell.

"I presumed to examine her more thoughtfully while you slept. Come closer," Mawyn beckoned him and Tyrion obeyed.

Liaha was still lying motionless on the floor while the archmaester held her hand with her palm turned up.

"Do you see those little scars?" Once the Mage mentioned them, Tyrion noticed them too. "Do you know what they hint?"

 _She had hands and cut them once?_ Begrudgingly Tyrion had to admit he didn't.

"Body can tell us a lot about person's life. For one, almost all people with no or very bad eyesight have an unusual amount of scars on their hands. Their hands are their eyes, but it is not truly the same to see the knife and to feel it."

"She has a very good sight, I can safely attest to that," Tyrion objected.

"Oh, I have no doubt, but did you know that all acolytes of the House of Black and White are deprived of each of their senses during the training to sharpen the others?"

"That sounds almost as pleasant as the training of Unsullied. There is no part of world more opposed to slavery than Braavos, but in the end all men and all kingdoms are the same." _Septons are too greedy. We do not need Seven Hells. The world we live in is one huge hell big enough for everyone from Southoros to the Lands of Always Winter._

Marwyn did not seem to agree. "Their training is voluntary in every step of the way. Look at the other hand, what do you see?"

"Scars," Tyrion grumbled already getting tired of this guessing game.

Marwyn seemed unperturbed by his tone. "To be precise you see more scars. That and almost the same about of muscle tissue on both hands says she is left-handed."

"But..."

"... the girl whose face she had been wearing while you met had been right-handed. And I have no doubt that our assassin friend had played her part flawlessly."

She did. Tyrion had never noticed a thing. "What else did you find?"

"She was very well fed as a small child and in a last year too, she is actually around four and ten and had flowered. The most surprising is that she appears to be still a maiden."

Tyrion clenched his fists. The pain in his injured fingers felt almost welcome. "Is that all?"

"For the nonce."

"And what is next?"

"Waiting."

Tyrion seated himself in a corner and leaned against the wall. The oil lamps gave enough light so he could see the girl's face clearly. With her eyes closed, she looked like any other maiden. It was hard to grasp how dangerous she could be. And yet she had likely killed more than dozen men only on the Purple Eel. _Maiden, Warrior, Crone, Stranger, they are one and the same and the Many Faced god have more faces still._

The first word Tyrion noticed her to whisper was not recognizable for man's ears. She moved her left hand and soft sound escaped her lips. That was the beginning. Her movements became more frequent and she started to murmur. The first word Tyrion would say he understood sounded like "needle."

Marwyn knelt beside her and started to talk at her, each sentence in a different tongue. "Do you want water? I will break your legs. Is this your horse? I am a friend..."

It did not take long for Tyrion to grasp Marwyn's intention. By far she reacted the most to Common Tongue, maybe even more than to Braavosi. She seemed to understand also tongues of the other Free cities, High Valyrian, and Trade Tongue. And though she knew a little of Dothraki, it was clear that she had never learned any tongue from farther South or East. Over time her words become a little clearer and her movements less shaky. At one moment, Marwyn decided that the right time had come.

"What is your name?" he asked in comanding tone.

"I won't tell you," she rasped. Despite her answer, Marwyn smiled. He gestured for Tyrion to follow him outside.

"The difference between questioning a faceless man and questioning a goat is that one might kill you while the other might chew upon your clothes. If you do not intend to get killed or to get naked in the most uncomfortable way both options are the same waste of time," Tyrion grumbled.

Marwyn waved it away. "Faceless men are priests more than they are killers. They give the gift of mercy mostly to the people chosen by order. The thing is that any member fully devoted to the order would have answered 'no one.' She must have been exceptionally stubborn to remain strong sense of self. And she is Westerosi."

"You asked her in Westerosi. Before, she understood Braavosi just as well."

Marwyn yawned. "She trained in Braavos, she is too young to have been send on a task so far. No, she is Westerosi, though it is hard to tell where she comes from, aside from the sword."

Tyrion nodded, fighting his own tiredness.

"I will leave a man with her and he will write down all her words. For us it is time to rest." Marwyn seemed to have no trouble return to his sleep, but Tyrion knew he himself wouldn't be so lucky. Instead he ordered wine, olives and hard cheese and wandered to Marwyn's library. His book of choice turned out to be The History of Tarth.

He was one third in to the book, and the sun had been up for hours when one of Marwyn men came for him. The sailor led him to the bow of the ship where they found Marwyn watching nearby ships through Myrish lenses.

The maester took out a piece of parchment out of his sleeve and started to read. "Needle, sister, ghost, mother, hound, snow, pain."

"None of it makes any sense."

"To us," Marwyn corrected. "Dreams and visions are quit intense in this stage of poisoning."

"In the most vivid dream of my life, I had no mouth." Tyrion confessed.

"When was that?" Marwyn put the glass to his eye again.

Tyrion saw no reason not tell him about the Blackwater. They had been talking about the battle too, when they had met for the first time, Tyrion remembered, but not about this part of the story. The Lannister found no small amount of satisfaction in a thought that his story could make it to the history, being read thousands years from now. Even if he had to acknowledge to himself that the Blackwater seemed almost like a children squabble compared to the storm which was about to reach Westeros soon. _It makes no matter, I will be in the centre of it too._

It was evening when Tyrion came to the girl again. He entered her cell, seated himself on the ground and listened. Every now and then he caught a word. Wall, ship, wolf, snow. Later Marwyn fared no better. "The only name she gave away so far was Jon."

Tyrion shook his head unbelieving. "Of course, of all the names she could have said, it has to be the least telling one." This Jon could have been anyone. A peasant from Riverlands, a bastard from Crownlands, a lord from Vale, there had been even a Stark king of that name, Tyrion recalled. "Do you think we will learn anything after she wakes?"

Marwyn's face was answer enough and his words barely made it better. "We have one more day. She is unguarded while she sleeps, it will be much harder once she wakes up."

But the following day passed most the same as the one before and they did not learn anything useful. It was the middle of the night when Tyrion was woken up once again.

"You should see this for yourself." It was Marwyn personally. He seemed strangely happy, but Tyrion had learned long ago that with men like Marwyn it was not always a good foresight. _The sea is beautiful, but only Marwyn's ilk would think so even while drowning in it._

Sleepy, cold and more than little annoyed, Tyrion took his warmest cloak and followed the Mage on the familiar path towards the cell. The Lannister could heard the sounds even from outside, but he was not entirely sure what it was before they entered. He blinked twice. The light was much brighter inside the cell.

The girl was trashing wildly on the floor, though that was not all he had heard Tyrion was sure. "Wasn't she supposed to be sleeping now?"

Marwyn silenced him with gesture of his large hand. Barely a moment later the girl growled. And again and then she howled. Tyrion shivered involuntary, even in the girl's voice it reminded him of the time long ago when he travelled to the Wall trough Wolfswood. I repeated few more times. Finally, Marwyn took him out.

"I have met many men who suffered from nightmares, but they all sobbed screamed or murmured, not one howled like a beast."

Tyrion had to agree. "It sounds more like she was the beast in the dream, rather than a prey."

As soon as he said the words Marwyn's face lit up. "Name me a grey sheep and the biggest fool! How did I not see it sooner?" He literally ran away. Tyrion tried to follow, but with his short legs it was useless. After a two hour long, futile search Tyrion gave up and returned to his bed. He kept tossing and turning, trying to figure out what Marwyn discovered, but it was eluding him. Finally, just as first annoying sunbeams started to steal into his cabin he felt asleep.

When Marwyn finally reappeared next evening he wasn't alone. He companion was a dark-haired boy no older than three and ten clad in sealskins. They were talking quickly in a gruff strange tongue Tyrion never heard before. Not caring that no one invited him directly, the Imp followed them down.

The maester ordered his men to open the cell and led the boy in. Tyrion did not miss the mistrusting look the boy gave the Mage, but whatever Marwyn had told him, it must have been enough because in the end the lad entered. Yet, he only made two steps before he froze and then backed away abruptly, almost knocking Tyrion down. As he turned to the door, Tyrion noticed that his face was mix of astonishment, awe and fear. Marwyn started to talk to him and the boy answered. After few questions, Marwyn let him go.

"He looked unsettled. Did he recognize Liaha is a Faceless man?" Tyrion asked looking at the girl in question, who for one slept calmly.

"Not at all," Marwyn's eyes were fixed on their captive and Tyrion could see that they almost shone with raw interest. Like most men of learning Marwyn's mind was apt to become engaged strongly where there was a hope of new knowledge, but Tyrion never saw him quit like this "Nevertheless, he confirmed that the girl we know as Liaha is a skinchanger."

"A skinchanger?!" Tyrion repeated trying to figure out if Marwyn was making a fool of him. He had seen dragons and glamors, but this was still too much to swallow.

"A skinchanger." Marwyn repeated as if he was dealing with an especially slow child who has just fallen from a donkey head down. "And according to Marna more powerful than any of those he had met beyond the Wall."

"So your new companion is a wildling," Tyrion concluded. In the times like these it was not so strange that the boy ended up so far from home, as for the rest of it..."How does that make him able to tell?" Tyrion gestured to the sleeping assassin.

Marwyn led him out. "A skinchanger can always tell another. And though the power is not strong in Marna, this much he could do."

"If you believe it." Tyrion himself didn't. Even the greatest men could sometimes become the greatest fools.

"I do," Marwyn answered with grave certainty. "There was a skinchanger who served as the Hand a century ago and, if half of what I heard about Stark children is true, there were six of them born into Great House in our own time."

This time Tyrion could not contain his laughter. "I was married to one of those wargs. There is hardly anyone less beastly in the Seven Kingdoms than Sansa Stark."

"What about the rest?"

Tyrion wanted to laugh again, but something stopped him. A memory half forgotten about a boy with grey eyes and a strange silent beast who followed him soundlessly like a huge white shadow.

It was not just boredom which lead him to her cell again. Luckily it did not seem as if Marwyn have gave any orders against Tyrion entering it alone.

Though it would be impossible to tell day from night in this place, he found the girl awake. She was sitting on floor covered in the blanket with her back turned to the door. She did not acknowledge his presence in any way. Like a beast stalking its prey, he walked around slowly. She was staring at the ground so he could not see her face clearly. Refusing to think about the consequences he stretched his hand and touched her chin.

"I cannot flee, but even now there is at least eight ways how I could kill you before you make a sound." Her voice was cold and toneless but the most unsettling was the way she spoke without moving any part of her body aside from her mouth. Like a talking piece of stone. Stubbornly, Tyrion kept his hand on her face a moment longer. It had been long since his hands had touched such fine smooth skin.

"If you wanted me dead, you would not waste your time with threats. We think you were trained in the House of Black and White."

"Was it wearing dead girl's face which gave me away?" she asked flatly.

Tyrion's mouth twitched of its own accord. "Marwyn also thinks that you are a skinchanger."

Finally, she turned to him. With her face not covered with blood, she was even prettier than he had first imagined. Her eyes were utterly mesmerizing, sharp and dark. So dark that in this light Tyrion couldn't even be entirely sure if they were brown or grey.

"Why?" she asked. Tyrion had to force his mind to pay attention to what she was saying.

"You growl in your sleep." Was he imagining it, or did his answer truly disappointed her?

"Nightmares. A lot of men have them. I never heard so many men were wargs."

"And what was the nightmare about?" Tyrion asked her with a raised brow. He could tell her a thing or two about nightmares. He would not even mind to hear about hers, but even if he did not believe Marwyn, he knew her drams were something different.

"I don't remember," she shrugged.

 _She knows I don't agree with Marwyn_ , it occurred to Tyrion. _She is not even trying very hard to convince me of anything._ That caught his interest. "There is another skinchanger on the boat. Marwyn claims that one skinchanger can always recognize another," he told her, carefully watching her face. It gave nothing away, not even her eyes, but she did not have an answer.

"What will happen with me?" she asked instead.

Tyrion knew he was being foolish, and it still irked him that she had played him for so long, but somehow he did not wish to see her harmed. A merciful lie formed on his tongue almost on itself. "Daenerys is a gentle queen."

Something moved behind those pretty hard eyes but Tyrion could not read it. It was only some time later before she spoke again.

"I don't suppose it matters now, but what happened to my sword?" she asked. Tyrion was careful not to let his interest show. _The sword is indeed important._

"We kept it in good care," Tyrion assured her. She went quit and nothing Tyrion told afterwards could break her silence. Giving her one last look he left the cell.

Marwyn was waiting outside. The archmaester did not seem distressed that Tyrion was visiting the prisoner without his leave. Then again that should have been expected. Those men at door were his and they could have stopped Tyrion any moment. _And if she killed me, hardly anyone would shed a tear. It would be my own folly._

"What did you talk about?" the archmaester asked without premise.

Tyrion toyed with the idea of lying, but he dismissed it quickly. This mastiff was a tricky beast, he had learned that long time ago. "I told her that we know she was trained in the House of Black and White and that she is skinchanger. She asked what will happen to her and about the sword."

"The sword. The sword is the key."

"Yes," agreed Tyrion, who had thought the same though.

"We must find out whose mark it bears. We need a tale to tell the Bear."

Tyrion knew precisely which bear Marwyn meant. Mormot was a Northman if the smith made the blade in the North, he might know him. "Yes, a tale and there is even maiden fair in it." Tyrion nodded. " Shame we will have to omit that part."

From what Tyrion could gather based on the distance, the Purple Eel seemed the same as when he had left it. They had agreed with Marwyn not to leave the girl alone on the Midnight Light with only the crew, so with some reluctance Tyrion let it to the archmaester be the one to pay a visit to Mormont. It gave him at least a small consolation that he did not have to cross the tottery board between the ships again.

Though he had promised himself he would not risk visiting the girl again while Marwyn was away, by midday his resolve weathered and he found himself descending to the cell with small box of cyvasse in hand. Vain as it might be, there was a question he needed answered.

With ordered the guards to let him in. The girl was awake just like during his last visit, but this time in much more curious pose. Naked as the day she was born she was balancing on one leg seemingly undisturbed by the swaying of the ship or by his presence. Her body was just as well made as her face. She was slender and well-muscled, her breasts were small but went with the rest of her well and he liked the sweet pink color of her nipples. Yet, the place his eyes kept wandering the most was her sex. Despite himself, he felt his manhood harden.

Tyrion did not know how long they stood there wordlessly facing each other but in one moment without any warning she hoped to the other leg. Even with his lust-hazed mind, Tyrion had to admire her grace. She maintained that position for a very long time, before she relaxed her muscles and put the leg down.

"May I have some clothes?" she asked him and Tyrion felt absurdly ashamed of himself.

"I am sorry, but Marwyn believes you will have it harder to hide any weapons this way."

She nodded not showing any emotion, took her blanked from the floor, covered herself and sat down. Tyrion followed and put the game board between them. "Do you know when I started to suspect you?"

The time alone had done its work and she seemed much more talkative than the last time. "When Lori learned I killed the Ironborn. I should have killed her too. I could still even feel Liaha's feelings, they linger in the flesh. She hated Lori for stealing her brother."

 _But you did not kill her in the end. Once I let too many men live in King's Landing and it almost cost me my life._

"It would have been a vain death," Tyrion answered trying to chase away his own ghosts. "It was much earlier. While we played cyvasse. I was drunk. To be precise, I was much more drunk than usually. Yet one thing I could remember even the next morning. I gave you a chance to beat me, but you still let me win."

She smiled. The smile had a hard edge to it, but it managed to brighten her face nevertheless. "I have never been drunk. I must to try it one day. It seems that all they told me about drunken men hardly holds true."

"You really should," Tyrion still remembered when he got drunk for the first time. He was hardly eleven. It was shortly after the rebellion and Jaime returned to Casterly Rock for the first time since he had taken the white. Tyrion had run to his brother's chambers to meet him, but instead of Jaime he found only a half drunk flagon of wine. He did not remember if it was curiosity or defiance which led him to drink it, but he liked the sweet taste even then. Once his brother returned and found him gloriously drunk he started to laugh. "I guess I have to join you now," he had told him. It was the only time they had gotten truly drunk together

Tyrion knew he was being lured by a sweet face for the thousandth time, but he vowed to himself he would do this much to her. This one little chance to live for a moment. He scratched the ruin of his nose and took a black horse thoughtfully.

"Would you honor me with another game?" he asked her.

When she nodded, Tyrion grinned. "Try to win for a change."

She did not win in the end, but it had been a tough battle. "Another game, my lord?" she asked as soon as the white king's crown touched the board.

By the third game, he had to acknowledge that she played like a true faceless woman should. Every time like an entirely different person. When she lost the fourth game out of four he ordered wine for the both of them. By the end of the fifth game they were getting tipsy. By the sixth, he noticed that when she let her guard down a little she had a habit of biting her lip. In made him desperately want to kiss her but he was nowhere near enough drunk to try. When their seventh game began, he asked for her name.

"I will tell you," she flashed all her pretty teeth at him. "If you win this game."

"And what if I lose?" some, no doubt very responsible, part of his mind was screaming at him that he was galloping into big trouble, but he was already pleasantly drunk, warm, sitting across a half-naked beautiful girl and he did not bloody care.

"I will give you back your sword," he continued, lightheaded.

Hers eyes sparkled at the notion. "Deal."

It was a glorious game. He took out her dragon, her elephants, even her heavy horse and was little away from claiming her king, when his move cleared a path for her light horse to dance across half of the board and kill his king.

"An extraordinary game, my lady," a voice from behind declared.

Tyrion almost pissed himself in that moment. He had been so absorbed in the game that he did not notice that Marwyn had returned and joined them. The girl looked visibly startled too. Marwyn smiled at her in almost fatherly manner "I will take away the wine, if you would not mind. Drink some water and try to eat some food, if you could. It is not seemly to drink so much on empty belly. And of course I will return the sword to you. Let it not be said I kept a Lannister from paying his debt."

The archmaester turned to Tyrion. "Would you follow me outside, we have important matters to discuss."

The clear night air did Tyrion good, though he was disturbed to discover that the dusk had passed without him giving it a though.

"We are three days from Westeros," the archmaester declared looking at the starry sky.

"About the damn time. The children of the children who were born on this ships must have sired their own whelps it the time it took us to get here," Tyrion answered. Even his own plans for the invasion before they ran into the Purple Eel seemed somehow distant now.

"I, for one, would wish for more time, we have too much to settle and so little time."

Tyrion did not need to ask to know that those matters had to do with the pretty-faced assassin. He tried to look Marwyn straight in eyes but found it hard on the swaying ship. Though, maybe it was not just the ship which was swaying.

"I know who our little guest is," Marwyn declared.

Whatever Tyrion expected just moments before it was not this. "You called her my lady," he recalled with some difficulty.

"I did, because I know whose mark is on her blade. Our knightly friend recognized it at once, though he was surprised by the shape of the blade. He also told me that the woman who had visions was a Lazareene."

"Who gives a fuck who she was? What did Mormont tell you?" Tyrion snapped, irritated. He was still slightly drunk, and as he was starting to notice also in desperate need of piss.

"What did the Lazarene woman see in her vision?" the archmaester asked instead and to his surprise Tyrion could sense anger in his voice.

"Damn, what does it matters that she was Lazahreene, Dothraki or Daenerys's long lost twin. She saw death."

Marwyn snorted. "It matters a lot, the only things that matters more is that her vision was death and huge wolf at the same time. Neither of which you have told me. You consider yourself clever, but when you do not see these little shreds of truth in the end you are more ignorant than a last field hand in a village called Cowdung!"

Tyrion's finger twitched as if there was invisible crossbow in his hand. He had been called monster and dwarf, but few men ever called him stupid. He was so angry he did not even hear archmaester's next words.

"What?!" he snapped.

"Do you really need me to figure it out? If I had had all the clues I would have known from the first day."

Tyrion rubbed his nose angrily. Marwyn had him there. He would not ask for an answer, he wanted to figure it out himself. She was a girl and a faceless man, a wolf and death. A death part was easy to understand, the other one... A warg. She is a warg and from a north, but not a wildling. So that is the wolf part, she is a wolf in a dream. A huge she-wolf, the woman said. A wolf as huge as... direwolf. And suddenly he knew.

"Winterfell," the word was half an astonished gasp. "The sword is from Winterfell. That is why Mormont knew the smith's mark. She is..."

"A Stark from Winterfell. I told you the Stark children were wargs."

As she was certainly not his late lady wife, that narrowed the possibilities rather significantly. Tyrion was stunned. A Stark, Arya Stark, the lost girl, the little sister... The ship swayed up and then quickly down. He did not even belch before he was vomiting on the archmaester's shoes.

It all seemed like a dream when he woke the next day. The game, the wine, the truth. The truth most of all. Arya bloody Stark. He did not want to face her after the revelation. Even in his drunken state he knew he needed to clear his head first. He was remarkably more sober than a few hours earlier, but his head hurt as if Robert himself had hit him with his famous warhammer.

Arya. Arya Stark. Arya bloody Stark of Winterfell. He talked to all her brothers and had been even called a friend by one of them. Hell, he had married her own sister, though he had never bedded her. Yet, he could not recall much about Arya Stark herself. Aside of attending one feast together, they had hardly ever met. She had been already gone by the time he had arrived in King's Landing. _How did Eddard Stark's little girl ended up as a member of the most infamous group of assassins? How has she even survived for so long?_ Though the first question was probably the answer to the second, or maybe the other way around. Arya Stark was a girl with more secrets that the whole of King's Landing.

He stood up quickly, ignoring the less pleasant effects of wine. They would land in two days and gods only knew when Marwyn would decide to tell the queen. Before any of that happened, Tyrion needed a plan.

Marwyn was of course already fully awake, seated in his own cabin and reading an ancient scroll. Surprisingly, he wasn't alone. In his own bed slept Arya Stark unchained and unbound. Tyrion gaped at the scene, astonished.

Archmaester took his eyes from the old writing in slow, almost lazy manner. "Don't look at me like a septa who sighed a whore praying to the Maiden. I am not the one who spent whole day in her cell getting drunk together."

"You set her free?" Tyrion asked still not fully believing his eyes. Greatness and madness were twins, most men knew, and like his own siblings you could find the two often joined at the hip. "You were the one to chain her in the first place!"

Rubbing his ruined nose he stormed outside, it was too much. Luckily Marwyn followed.

"Back then I knew only that she was a faceless man. Now I know more. Her own cabin will be prepared soon," Marwyn answered calmly.

"What do you mean to do, now that you know?" Tyrion asked.

"I'll convince Daenerys to use the girl. She is both a Stark and a warg. Killing her would be as shameful an act as killing a dragon."

"Even if you by some miracle managed to convince Daenerys, how will you convince Arya? We both know very well that she won't simply follow anyone's orders." Tyrion might desire the girl, even admire and pity her in a way, but he did not fool himself to believe that Arya Stark would be easy to control.

"We made a deal. Three dragons are nearing Westeros and all its current rulers should tremble with fear. Even the bastard king in the North. Arya Stark is the best chance her half-brother has to survive the meeting with our gentle queen. In any case, I have sent a message to Daenerys informing her that I came upon someone important, though I kept the name a secret for now."

Jon Snow, yes Arya Stark probably cared for her half-brother. Tyrion wished he used this knowledge himself. _I still might, the boy did call me a friend. That is if Arya Stark lives long enough to reunite with her brother._

"Why she is still asleep?" Tyrion asked trying not to think that Daenerys might try to kill the girl anyway. Marwyn's mouth twitched in the infamous crooked smile "Because not even being a faceless man helps you the morning after you get drunk like this for the first time in your life."

The next time he came across her, Tyrion found Arya Stark leaning against a railing at the fore of the ship. She was sharpening her sword in long practiced strokes. Clad in breeches and a simple sailors jacket with her short hair pinned in a messy tail, she made for a sight just as much lovely as unsettling. An ugly feeling rose in him at the thought that Marwyn had overtaken him and had given her the sword. The Mage cheated him of a rare chance to see a glimpse of gratitude in her eyes.

"If I asked you for a favor, would you do it?" She spoke almost as if she could read his mind.

"Do you truly expect me to answer, without knowing nature of your request, my lady? I might be small but I am hardly a child."

"No, you are no child and I am no lady. If I wrote a letter would you deliver it to Jon Snow?"

Did he ever reveal to her during their endless hours of cyvasse how well he went along with the bastard of Winterfell once? He did not think so. This would be a good chance to gain her gratitude, but instead he found himself making another deal.

"If you answer a few questions. We dwarfs are curious creatures, why else would we go so often looking at the bottoms of wells?"

"And you trust me not to lie to you?" The amount of doubt she deliberately put in those words was by no means small.

"Leave that to me." There was often truth even in the lies, Tyrion knew.

She chewed upon it a moment longer but in the end she nodded solemnly. "What do you wish to know?"

Tyrion decided to start with the easy ones.

"What happened on the Purple Eel?" It was hard to tell by her face what she thought of the question.

"Miryo was a good captain and good enough man even if he had no belly for sea and liked girls too much. He had been born a son of an orphan girl and a sellsword and made it far. That is why I choose the ship. But not a fortnight after we took the sail, Thazo, his second in command, and few other men had him killed. Some of them even presumed to touch the women among the passengers."

"They were the men who died." It was not a question, they both knew. "It was careless of you, with so few of crew left, might have died together with all the rest."

"No, by the time I killed the last one I knew the ship was coming. It was a Braavosi galley, so they took the passengers but nothing from the ship for the fear it was cursed."

"Why you did not leave with the rest of passengers?"

"For the same reason I didn't have time to get rid of the last dead man. You were coming too. If you arrived not an hour earlier you would have seen the other ship. Is that all?" She asked almost impatiently.

"No, who had the sword made for you?"

"That is a stupid question," Arya Stark snapped, unusually out of control. _She might seem decades older most of the time, but she is a girl of four and ten in the end_ , he thought pitifully.

"Then give me a stupid answer, I still want to know."

"My brother."

"See," he grinned. "Judging by your reluctance I do actually believe that you did not lie. It makes the most sense too. I know the sword is from Winterfell. I met all of your brothers. Rickon and Bran were little children at the time you parted. Robb... a boy who broke his promise to save the honor of a maiden, who refused to exchange his sisters mere girls for a knight, somehow I do not think so."

She watched him closely with those piercing grey eyes. Jon Snow, had the same eyes. They did look rather alike, the same coloring, the same long faces, though she was much prettier of course. Idly, he wondered how much she resembled her infamous aunt. Rhaegar might have been right, when a man comes upon such a rare beast he won't let her slip through his fingers.

"I will deliver the letter and I will tell Jon you kept his sword the whole time." And maybe he would ask for a certain huge favor too.

She turned from him abruptly and he knew that he had hit a tender spot. Marwyn had been right. She cared for Jon Snow. _All the better for me._

It was some hours later and Tyrion was just below deck when he heard a shriek. For the shortest moment he thought that the queen came earlier by a day, but this was no dragon. Quickly, he hurried outside. He found that the wildling Marwyn had brought few days ago was back. The boy was standing next to Arya staring at her with an expression which was a perfect balance between fear and awe. The Stark girl herself was turned towards the water. Tyrion would made to walk over to them, but Marwyn stopped him.

"What..." In that moment Tyrion heard a whoosh and a fountain of water and steam reached above the railing. He run to the border of the deck. Not a ten feet from the ship swum a large spotted whale.

"I called him!" He could hear Arya's voice clearly.

Tyrion marvelled at the sight. It was true, she was a skinchanger.

Marwyn led him away with a very satisfied smile. Tyrion wondered if he himself would wear the same look if he ever managed to finally claim Casterly Rock. He could see it vividly. He would walk in the middle of the Great Hall, where all great Lannister heroes and kings walked before him, take off his breeches, shit right there and forbid anyone to clean it. _For your_ _eternal memory, father_.

"I decided to call Marna back," the Mage revealed. "Lady Stark has power, but for the most part she is untaught. I thought she might get closer to her full potential with a little guidance. I was not wrong."

"What is your true plan with the girl?" Tyrion asked suspicious.

Marwyn though for some time before answering. "It fits, I suppose. Lann the Clever was a trickster not a warrior, just like you. The founder of House Stark was not a warrior either but a mage. The greatest mage that ever lived, unsurpassed even by old Valyrians. What is my plan? Not much, let her learn and watch what happens." There was something almost mad in Marwyn's gaze. And of course, there was that nagging though at the back of Tyrion's mind.

"Dragons," he whispered, not even sure he himself wanted to hear it aloud, "she might be able to control dragons one day in a way not even Valyrians ever could."

"Not for years and years to come," Marwyn assured him. "Dragons are unlike other beasts, they are made of fire and magic. But with proper guidance, yes, I expect she will be able to control them one day."

"Will Daenerys let her live with such power?" Tyrion voiced his own thoughts absentmindedly.

"She has more reasons to do so than anyone else. She believes herself barren. Who else is there to take the dragons once she dies? The horn was destroyed so Arya Stark might be the solution Daenerys seeks so desperately. The gift of warging stays in the blood so the Stark girl's children will likely take after her."

Her children… Tyrion lingered at those two words. Her abilities would complicate the matters, but it made him all the more determined. When he married Sansa Stark he was promised the North, with her sister he might gain the whole kingdom. Maybe even the whole world.

"We should leave the young to talk. Tomorrow we are going to sail in the sight of Vale Mountains. Would you join be for a cyvasse game? It may be long before we have another chance," Marwyn interrupted his musings.

Tyrion turned to the girl just in the moment Arya put her hand on the lad's arm and smiled. She never even tried to play that game with Tyrion. Yet there was nothing he could do about it at that moment. Irritated, the Lannister turned back to archmaester and nodded somehow reluctantly.

They were at their fifth match when Arya Stark joined them.

"My lady, will you grace me with a game?" Marwyn asked when his elephant finally caught Tyrion's king. "I am sure my lord will forgive you stealing one game."

"I will, my pride can sustain only so many defeats in one day," Tyrion grumbled.

From the place he seated himself, Tyrion could see both of the opponents setting their boards. Neither constellation told him much about what strategy they had in mind.

Arya Stark moved as the first. "We are going to land in Vale," she stated without any uncertainty while she held her light horse.

Marwyn grinned and moved his dragon, which Tyrion found unusual. "None of my men knows that."

"They never know anything. You could ask them to sail for Valyria with a stop at Skaggos and they won't even ask why," Tyrion could not hold his tongue.

"That is why they are my men," Marwyn brushed it of as if the comment was fly in his wine.

Stark girl's gaze lingered at the board for some time before she reached for her crossbowman. Then she asked Marwyn something in the Trade Tongue and archmaester answered in kind. They both know he barely understood the horrible gibber. And truly they continued to chat amiably while he was left out like a piece of old furniture. Why bother with him, he didn't take much place after all.

Tyrion could not stand it any longer. "I am going to take a piss," he announced loudly and stood up.

Outside he barely took one step before he slipped and landed straight at his ass. At least no one was there to laugh at him. He touched the cold deck. Beneath his bare fingers he could feel a thin layer of ice almost invisible to the eye. It must have appeared while they played. Much more carefully he walked to the railing only to discover that he did not need to piss after all.

As long as he could remember Tyrion thought himself clever and all more stupid people annoyed him. But Marwyn was not most people and near him Tyrion himself felt like a stupid child. _Others take the Mastiff!_ It was Tyrion who found the girl and cared for her. It was Marwyn who chained her. Yet, suddenly, the master decided to treat her half as rare beast half as his favorite student and Tyrion was left out. He would not allow it. Daenerys trusted him enough, he helped her with dragons and did well in Meereen, she would grant him this one girl or I would make her to do so. Arya Stark would never love him, he knew, but she would wed me and give birth to his sons. And all dead Lannisters would roar in their graves as the dead Starks will howl in the North.

He stayed outside till his ears burned and his fingers become numb with cold. He was feeling much better, best since he learned of Cersei's death, but as he touched the door he decided he did not wish to see Marwyn's ugly face just yet.

His eyes were half open, his mind still half wandering the lands of dreams. When Tyrion first glimpsed a girl in a small cabin Marwyn had provided him, he did not paid her much mind and closed his eyes again only to wake, startled, a moment later when his awareness awakened.

Arya Stark was sitting unperturbed on an oak chest clad in the breeches and sailor jacket she seemed to prefer since her identity was revealed.

"You promised to deliver a letter for me." Indeed in her left hand she held one. It had a seal of grey wax and all corners bend to the one point in the middle in Braavosi fashion.

Tyrion scraped himself out from underneath a huge pile of furs. Despite winter, he still preferred to sleep naked. For a moment he felt conscious of his deformed body, but he pushed the thought aside. _Better she gets used to it now, I won't get any prettier with time._

It took him two and half step to reach her in the tiny cabin. He took the letter from her and intentionally brushed her fingers. She let him take the letter but as soon as her fingers released it there was a dagger at his neck. She moved so quickly that Tyrion did not even see how it happened.

"I threated to cut the nose of the last dwarf who presumed to touch me. Seeing you have none, I would have to cut off something else instead."

"Careful now, my lady, there are many ways how one can cut himself," he warned her mildly. "The last time a member of your family tried to harm me it started the war which killed most of yours. Besides, headless dwarfs make for as piss poor messengers as headless common men." Tyrion had tamed more than one beast, most of them wearing man's skin and he had tried to court women too, usually by coin, but never before he had to do both at the same time. Still he felt up to challenge.

The dagger disappeared just as quickly as it had come out. Tyrion wished he knew where exactly she had hid it _. I knew that there was a good reason why I always liked women best naked._ He would need to have this figured out before the wedding. Maybe he should convince Jon than he was the best way to keep her pretty head on her pretty shoulders and let him speak in his favor.

"Deliver the letter. I need to go and prepare myself to meet the queen." She told him and walked out.

Once she was gone, cold came upon him and Tyrion shivered violently. Quickly, he went to dress himself.

The discussion about the upcoming invasion between him and Marwyn lasted for quite some time before Arya Stark reappeared at the deck. It should not have surprised him from a former faceless girl, but the transformation was astonishing. Even Cersei would have to pale with envy near Arya Stark as she stood there. And that would be a sight to see. For a brief moment Tyrion felt almost sorry his sister was dead.

The Stark girl wore a fine silvery dress with blue-red flowery pattern which made her appear much more delicate and soft than she truly was. Her hair was pinned and partially covered by an ornate cloth, hiding its shortness. Over her shoulders she wore a thick red cloak. It was more Targaryen blood red than Lannister crimson, but Tyrion decided to take it as a good omen nonetheless.

"My lady, just in time." Marwyn greeted the Stark girl. "The queen should be here at any moment."

"I blame the dress. Thank you for it, it fits me well, but it is not one bit easier to get into than a full armor. Which ship belongs to queen?" she asked looking at the shapes of distant ships surrounding them from all sides.

"None, yet I am sure she will be here soon," Marwyn acknowledged. It troubled them both but neither would reveal that to the girl.

Marwyn was right in the end. It could not have been even quarter of an hour before they heard a distant scream. Tyrion turned to the sound and spotted a small black point at the sky. It was quickly transforming into a large dragon. Daenerys did not come by ship.

No matter how many times Tyrion had seen the dragons already, they never failed to amaze him. This time, though, he decided to watch Stark girl's reaction rather than the beast. Arya Stark did not let her eyes leave Drogon even for a moment, though her face could have been carved from a stone for the all emotion she showed.

Finally, the dragon flew just few feet above the ship and a small figure clad in white hopped from its back. Drogon screamed one last time before flying away. The ship was too small for him. He landed on one of the nearby vessels instead. By then Daenerys Targaryen was almost there and all three took the knee.

"Archmaester, your message was too vague. Who is it that I must meet without knowing his name? Or hers?" The queen greeted them and looked pointedly at Arya. "Who are you, girl?"

Daenerys Targaryen had a way of being intimidating despite her sleight build and not even twenty years of age. Today, she seemed in one of her fouler moods, yet the Stark girl neither flinched nor turned from the piercing gaze. "I am Arya Stark of Winterfell."

The queen's purple eyes widened with surprise, but just as quickly they narrowed in suspicion and she looked between Tyrion and Marwyn.

"She speaks the truth," Tyrion confirmed, hoping that all his dreams and plans won't end in pile of ash.

The queen turned back to Lady Arya. "Your father was a traitor and the Usurper's dog. Your oldest brother was a rebel who tore the kingdom apart and your bastard brother is an oathbreaker and deserter, are you willing to do your duty and fight him?"

"Never. I would rather burn alive slowly than fight Jon, but he loves me well, I can make him hear a reason," the young Stark answered with chilling calmness.

Daenerys face hardened. "Leave us alone," she commanded.

"Is it wise without the Queensguard, your grace?" Marwyn objected immediately.

The queen straightened in all her limited height, she was even two inches shorter than the Stark girl, Tyrion noticed."Drogon is all the protection I need."

The archmaester bowed and turned to leave, Tyrion had no choice but to follow.

"Is there some smallest of the small chances that you did not mention just how exactly we have met Arya Stark?" Tyrion asked suspicions.

"I was hoping to give Lady Stark a chance to charm a queen, before it came to that." Marwyn looked as troubled as the dwarf had ever seen him.

Tyrion just gaped at him. "You truly did not tell the queen that Arya Stark is in fact a skilled assassin?"

"I don't think the Stark girl will try to kill her, but I was supposed to be there and damn the Targaryen, I told her not to bring the dragons. The foolish child should have listened this one time."

"No dragons?" Tyrion raised both eyebrows. "Remind me not to listen to you the next time."

"I am no fool, I know the risks, but there are dangers we have to face for knowledge and power. We could have won the Starks to our case, imagine the possibilities, but is it too soon. I can't guarantee that Lady Arya won't try to kill Drogon if it came to her life and whichever way that would end it would be the utmost shame." The archmaester's gaze wandered towards the ship where Drogon was nested and then to the two young girls talking.

Tyrion looked that way too. Even from afar it did not look as if the girls were not warming up to each other. Daenerys appeared angry and by the look of it Arya Stark was not even trying not to inflame her more.

Before Marwyn could answer a scream interrupted them. _Drogon_ , Tyrion thought, but the direction was wrong. He looked up and saw Rhaegal approaching them quickly. Of all three dragons the green one always unsettled Tyrion the most. Not the biggest or the strongest, but the quickest, most vicious and the most unpredictable.

"He better stay away," Marwyn murmured. Tyrion looked at him and was surprised to find his wide brow soaked in sweat and his hands set tight.

The Mage moved, but it was already too late. The green dragon descended upon them as a lightning. Smaller than his brother, he was able to land on their deck. He folded his leathery wings and gave a screamed. Orange – green flame came from his throat only nearly missing one of ship's sails.

"RHAEGAL!" the queen chided the beast.

The dragon just looked at her as an insolent child and then turned his head slightly. Tyrion realized that Arya Stark must have caught his attention. For some time Rhaegal just stared at the Stark girl and then titled his head upwards, screamed as loud as Tyrion had ever heard a dragon scream and let out a monstrously large flame. Surprisingly, he did not attack after that and lay his head on the ships deck.

The queen turned and Tyrion saw a surprise on her face. He himself took a sharp intake of breath when it was Arya Stark and not the queen who approached the beast. The girl put her hand between dragon's horns in a strangely gentle gesture. Tyrion had never seen Rhaegal so calm. The beast remained uncharacteristically still just waiting passively as the Stark girl bent to see it straight in the large bronze eyes.

The very next thing Tyrion saw was a sword Jon Snow had given her in her hand. _How in Seven Hells was she able to hit it in that dress?_ In the first moment, he was sure that she would go for dragon's eye and kill him, but instead she cut off skirts of her own gown. Before Tyrion had a chance to put together what was happening the leathery wings flapped the two of them were flying away leaving only few pieces of silvery fabric and a dumbfounded Targaryen in their wake.

"Didn't you per chance claim that this could not happen for some years?" Tyrion asked Marwyn pointedly, when he finally found his voice some time after the girl and the dragon disappeared from their sight.

"Obviously, I was wrong."

"And now the two of us are fucked." They could both see Daenerys Targaryen who just recovered walking towards them with fury like fire in her eyes. Nearby Drogon was screaming but he did not take flight.

"Yes we are," the archmaester agreed mildly. There was no greater truth, but Tyrion had survived worse than Daenery's Targaryen anger and as he turned back to spotless blue sky he felt more alive than in a very long time. _I will find her_ , he vowed to himself, _this is not the end_.


End file.
